


get out of the car and start to walk

by cheekaspbrak



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: First Kiss, Fix-It, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-18 21:08:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20645705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheekaspbrak/pseuds/cheekaspbrak
Summary: "It's not too late.Turn off the engine,get out of the car,and start to walk."-Drunk Drivers/Killer Whales by Car Seat HeadrestDefeating It has shattered the glass wall between real and not real, and Richie can no longer tell the difference.





	get out of the car and start to walk

**Author's Note:**

> I was kind of inspired by the recent Spider-Man movie and how he can't tell if anything is real after Mysterio fucks with him, because... that shit gives me insane anxiety. The idea of not knowing what's real just gives me chills, and I wanted to write my take on how that would feel.

_"It's not too late._

_Turn off the engine,_

_get out of the car,_

_and start to walk."_

_-Drunk Drivers/Killer Whales by Car Seat Headrest_

* * *

“How did, um… How did Pennywise taunt _ you _?”

It’s a simple question with a complicated answer. Eddie doesn’t realize the weight the question holds. Or, maybe he does, on some level, but he doesn’t know how fucking _ difficult _ it is to answer that question because it’s _ him _asking it. 

They’re in Richie’s hotel room, which Eddie had remarked was _ ‘already fucking disgusting. Jesus, Rich, you’ve only been here a day.’ _ To which he’d responded, _ ‘well, fuck, I’m sorry I didn’t find the time to clean up in between getting hammered at a Chinese restaurant and almost dying at the hands of a fucking clown.’ _

They’re in Richie’s _ dirty _ hotel room, and he can’t even find the air to breathe, for so many reasons. The main reason is that Eddie is sitting next to him on _ his _bed, looking up at him with unfairly intriguing eyes that haven’t changed a bit in 27 years.

The other reason is that Eddie is asking him a question that has only one answer he’s not willing to share. He _ should _ be willing to share it, considering Eddie had nearly died in front of his fucking eyes. Actually, scratch that, Eddie _ had _ died in front of his eyes, only that wasn’t _ real _ Eddie that was _ Pennywise _Eddie and the two were starting to become jumbled inside of his head. He knows, distantly, that something inside of him is short-circuiting and that he should do something about it.

Eddie says his name, puts a hand on his shoulder with a look that says _ ‘it’s okay, I understand’, _ but he doesn’t, he _ couldn’t. _

“Pennywise…” He starts, but his mouth can’t catch up to the words inside his brain. It all tumbles out in an incoherent mess, “Pennywise taunted me with you, he knew- he fucking _knew _how much I love you and he _used _it and I… I know I should have expected it but he was mocking me with this secret and then-” Richie can’t look at Eddie now, voice growing quiet and even shakier than before, “then he killed you in _front_ of me. But, it wasn’t real, it can’t be because you’re right _here._”

Richie brings his eyes to Eddie’s again, just to remind himself that yes, Eddie is really there. He finds big, confused eyes looking up at him, sending panic through his veins but at least he’s _ there. _

Eddie’s eyes dart around his face, like he’s trying to decide which part of that novel to comment on first.

“You love me?”

Richie chuckles sadly, a bitter, stupid sound. He uses his fingers to lift up his glasses and pushes the heels of his hands against his eyes to stop the burning tears there. Hands wrap around his wrists, trying to gingerly pull them away from his eyes. He stubbornly refuses.

“Richie, you love me?” It’s a question, but it sounds more like a command. He drops his hands away from his eyes, finding an apprehensive face looking at him. If he didn’t know better, he’d say he looks almost _ hopeful _. Richie nods, and then Eddie’s nodding too, looking not at his eyes but at his lips.

“You love me.” He says again, like it’s a reminder. He keeps nodding, surging forward until his lips are on his own and Richie makes a noise that sounds a lot like _ mmph! _and pulls away, leaning so far back on the bed he’s nearly lying down. 

“Please tell me you didn’t mean you love me like a fucking brother or something,” Eddie says with wide eyes and lips that are ready to curve up into a teasing smile. Richie snorts in response, finding confidence to lean back up and kiss him again. Bursts of colorful memories swim through his head, and he finds himself remembering glimpses of Eddie’s smile and the sound of his laugh and how unbearably in love Richie was with him. Unbearable, _ unrequited _love. 

He presses a hand onto Eddie’s chest, shoving him backwards with a shout. He finds his balance on the bed, pushing himself back until he’s sitting against the headboard and his knees are pulled up against his chest. Eddie sits up again, almost angry, mostly confused.

“Richie?”

Unbearable and _ unrequited. _ He remembers now with complete certainty, just as he did when he was thirteen, that Eddie, _ his Eddie, _ would never love him back. 

“You’re not real. This isn’t real. Wh- How?” Richie doesn’t wait for a response because Eddie- _ fake _Eddie- leans forward and tries to touch his face. He pulls back, head thumping against the headboard behind him, and squeezes his eyes shut. His hands clap down over his ears with a thunderous sound, and he thinks that he may have nearly blown his eardrum out.

_ His _ Eddie would never have loved him back. It’s a morose, self-deprecating thought but it’s one that’s entirely true. He remembers reading into every interaction between the two of them, every long glance and it was so _ clear _that it was an unrequited love he harbored for Eddie. 

“Richie, this _ is _ real.” _ It _ has always been good at imitating people and creatures, and now is no exception. He can hear the hint of panic in his voice and a few tears leak from the corners of his closed eyes. This isn’t real. What _ is _ real? When has Eddie ever _ been _ real? Was Eddie really at the restaurant with them? Was It taunting him the entire time, torturing him? Was It waving something he couldn’t have in front of his face, waiting until the right moment to close in on him? Did _ real _ Eddie die and _ fake _Eddie made him believe that it was all a hallucination? 

“You’re scaring me, you need to breathe.” Eddie places one hand on his knee instead of attempting to touch his face again, and Richie’s eyes snap open. He can feel his chest heaving but air isn’t _ really _flowing through his lungs. It’s plunging down, stopping somewhere near his heart, then rising back up again.

“I’m not afraid of you,” He weakly tries, pressing his back further into the headboard. _ Eddie _ squeezes his knee, and his face doesn’t split in half to show an array of teeth, but Richie still can’t separate between _ real _ and _ fake. _

“Really?” Eddie questions, huffing a laugh that has no heart in it, “Because you look fucking _ terrified. _”

Richie looks around the room, then back to the hand on his knee. “Eddie?” He asks, like it will somehow prove anything. Eddie’s answering nod doesn’t make him feel much better, but the lack of murderous teeth does. He does something he remembers from when they were kids, pulling a hand away from his ear and wiggling the pinky around Eddie’s, giving a squeeze that is immediately returned. 

He takes a breath in and Eddie mirrors him. Shaky fingers wrap around his own in an awkward hold that Richie takes several moments to stare at. 

“Did I just completely ruin our first kiss?” He asks, but he’s smiling because he feels like he’s returning to his body and Eddie is looking at him with the biggest fucking grin he’s ever seen.

“Yeah, you did, asshole. I demand several more kisses to make up for it.” Eddie’s voice is strong and snippy, like it always is, always has been, but the look on his face is much more timid than anything Richie remembers, “Please tell me you’re not going to fucking spiral every time we kiss.”

Richie snorts, throwing his head back and giggling before pressing close to Eddie and giving him a peck on the lips, “There. Better?”

“Meh,” Eddie responds with a shrug, but the way he chases after Richie’s lips tells another story. His hands shake, caught in the air between his body and Eddie’s face, “Hey, it’s just me. It’s just you and me. I promise.”

Richie takes a second deep breath at the feeling of Eddie grasping onto his hands again, “This is real?”

Eddie’s pinky wraps around Richie’s and squeezes again, “Real. We’re real. We’re okay.”

They kiss again, longer than any of the other times, and whatever roadblock had been built up in his chest comes crashing down. Now, it feels like he can’t get enough air, no matter how much he sucks in. He lets himself touch Eddie’s face, then his neck and shoulders and chest. Eddie moves from his position hovering above him until they are both laying on their sides, making out like teenagers. Except, it isn’t like teenagers. Teenagers are always headed somewhere, onto the next exciting thing. No, this is different, because they just want to stay in this moment, to soak in every bit of this moment for as long as they can. For the first time in his entire life, he allows himself to feel what a man's hands- what _ Eddie’s _hands feel like brushing against his face, sliding over the smooth skin just under the hem of his t-shirt. He uses a thumb to brush over the stubble along his jaw, slides a hand down his chest and hesitantly, ever so gently traces his fingertips over the bare skin covering his hipbone peeking out from over his slacks. 

“Are you okay?” Eddie asks suddenly, breaking away from Richie’s lips.

“I _ was _fine before you stopped kissing me.”

“Richie, I’m _ serious, _ you’re shaking.” Richie looks down at his hands and sure enough, not only are his hands shaking, but so are his arms.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for 27 years, Kaspbrak, I think I’m allowed to be a little nervous.” With that, they’re kissing again, only breaking apart one more time for Eddie to whisper something Richie never thought he’d hear.

“I love you, too, Richie. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything. I’ve loved you ever since we first met. Don’t ever forget that.” His mouth covers Richie’s again, hands wrapping around his hip bones and pulling him closer, hard enough to bruise his skin and remind Richie that this is _real_. 

Richie shuts his eyes tightly, because he is _ not _going to cry (not again) while making out with the love of his life and hottest person he’s ever laid eyes on, no siree! He does allow himself, however, the smallest bit of comfort in wrapping his pinky around Eddie’s just to feel him squeeze back.

“Yes,” Eddie responds, eyes locked on his, “This is real. The realest thing I’ve ever felt.”

**Author's Note:**

> this isn't something I'd usually say, but if anyone wants to write a smutty continuation of this, that would be 100% cool because for the first time in my life I feel like something I wrote would be better with smut. I just... can't bring myself to write it. If you want to do that you can always message me on my tumblr @cheekaspbrak and we can figure out something!


End file.
